


Passing Bells

by historymiss



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:29:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historymiss/pseuds/historymiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Assassin's Creed AU set during World War One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passing Bells


    _London, 1913_
    
    Margaret Carter fumbles the key in her gloved hands and opens the heavy oak door. The bureau has been shut for the last two weeks, and the smell that greets her is one of cold, stale air and neglect. There are just a few envelopes on the mat, stooping, she picks them up and leafs through them idly as she walks to the study. Once, this building had been alive with activity. Novices, masters, teachers, all working together to keep the Empire running. Now, it was just her, and an elderly maid who came in once a week. 
    
    Peggy sighs, and sits at one of the worn wooden desks, shrugging off her long winter coat and unstrapping the blades from her forearms. Heavy, inelegant things. She prefers her revolver, or a knife, but the blades are a tradition, and expected. And they have their uses. Before she takes off the lefthand device, she uses it to slit open the topmost envelope. It's a buff-brown square of paper, and the telegram inside is badly typed.
    
    _We regret to inform you..._
    
    She reads the words without much recognition, though the phrasing is, by now, familiar. It is the fifth such telegram she has received in as many weeks. The cream of British assassins had vanished to the battlefields of France, and the war, ever hungry, had claimed almost every single one. She puts the telegram down and thinks of poor Jacqueline, who will now grow up without a father. Then she opens a desk drawer, unscrews the lid of her fountain pen and bottle of ink (her movements calm and methodical) and drafts a letter to a man with the unlikely name of Nicholas Fury. Like the last three Peggy has written, it will be polite, it will be formal, and it will urgently request manpower from what were, until recently, the Colonies. 
    
    Unlike the last three she has written, it will not go unanswered. 


End file.
